Coming Out the Other Side
by luli27
Summary: The morning after 'Break Me Out', Aaron finally talks about the attack and he and Emily take another, tiny, step forward. Third in my behind the scenes series; includes my version of the infamous Hotch/Rossi convo at the end of ep. 3


**Out the Other Side**

**Disclaimer: **Nope, not mine

**A/N:** Well, here's the next one. This is a direct sequel to 'Break Me Out'. I didn't intend to write it but after my beta read the last one she was all 'you have to write the talk the following morning' and so, I did. Not sure if this is what she had in mind but well, this is what musie wanted to write. I think Hotch might continue to be a little OCC in this one but like I said in the last one, he's just gone through a traumatic experience and he's trying to deal with it, that means he's going be not quite himself. At least, that's my story and I'm sticking to it. I tried and kept as much in character as I could but since I'm getting them on the road to be together, there's bound to be some OCC; hope you guys like it anyway. When I posted the first one, three weeks, I thought I had three weeks to write the fourth one; turns out, I haven't done quite as much writing as I'd planned on. Between starting my internship and musie deciding to go on a break, I only have the first two pages of the next one done right now. Still, I have started it and know where I'm going with it, so with any luck, that one will be up next week. Thanks to pup and those that have review and please do let me know what you think of it!!

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Emily took a deep breath and closed her eyes to calm down before she began making more coffee, which was the excuse she'd used to come into the kitchen. She and Aaron had just spent the last two hours talking about Foyet's attack on him and the resulting emotional trauma, not that Aaron would use the word 'trauma' in relation to himself. Or that he was all that forthcoming in talking about it. It had taken Emily a half an hour to convince him he needed to talk about it, just like he said he would last night. Even after he'd agreed, she spent the next half hour coaxing him word by word.

Getting Aaron Hotchner to open up about anything emotional was not easy in the best of times; getting him to open up about what was most likely the most horrific experience of his life was almost impossible. She was well aware that the only reason she had been able to finally get him to start talking was because deep down, he'd known he needed to do it. He'd decided, before he'd shown up at her place the night before, that he was going to do it. Of course, deciding to do something and actually doing it were two entirely different things; deciding was usually quite a lot easier than doing.

For a man as self-contained and self-reliant as Aaron, deciding that he needed to talk to someone to deal with anything had been hard enough but to actually relive the assault _and_ share the emotional consequences had been excruciatingly difficult. Not that it had been any easier on her. To see a strong and unshakable man, the man she loved so traumatized, vulnerable and raw, to see him blink his eyes to disperse the tears that pooled there, see him clear his throat because his voice kept breaking, see him squeeze his hands together when he usually had no tells, see him visibly search for words when he was normally one of the most articulate persons she'd ever met and see him trail off and fall silent when he couldn't find the words had been heart-breakingly painful.

But she had sat there and listened to him, without visibly reacting because that was what he had needed from her. Her losing it, by crying or shouting as she was half tempted to do would not have had helped the situation any. She was there to be a sounding board, to offer support and as neutral an opinion as a person that loved him was capable of; she wasn't about to let him know how much hearing what he'd gone through had affected her. That would only make him feel guilty about burdening her and would probably shut him down more effectively than anything else she could do – all in the name of protecting her.

So if she'd had to bite her lip, blink her own eyes and squeeze her hand around her coffee cup to keep it together, then that's what she'd done. And when he'd haltingly told her that at one point when Foyet took off his shirt he'd thought Foyet would rape him, she'd bitten her tongue and kept her outraged cry inside.

Thankfully, she'd noticed that the coffee pot had been empty minutes after that admission and she'd taken the opportunity to escape to the kitchen and take a couple of minutes to get herself together again. By his reaction to her 'I'll be right back', she had the feeling he was as glad for the small break as she was.

The morning had been emotionally draining on both of them and she knew that she would soon have to start the next portion of the program. What she'd privately had started to call the 'you're not to blame for what happened so get your head out of your ass and get it on straight' part. Not that she would ever say that out loud; she could only imagine Aaron's reaction if she did. If she were a betting kind of woman, she'd bet it would be . . . negative. But for her, just thinking of it had calmed her down enough that she could go out again and be the supportive friend/girlfriend she was supposed to be – if a slightly tougher version than the one he was probably expecting.

With that thought in mind, she picked up the coffee pot, took a deep breath and went back into the dining room. She refilled his cup and hers before she sat down.

"You know," she began as she added sugar to her cup, "that it wasn't your fault, right? None of what happened was your fault." When he continued to stir his one spoon of sugar into his coffee without saying a word or even looking up at her, she frowned. "Aaron, tell me you know it's not your fault."

"If I'd taken the deal, all those people on that bus wouldn't have died and none of this would have happened," was what he said instead.

"Damn it, Hotch!," Emily cursed and had him raising an eyebrow in surprise. "You did what you had to, what you were supposed to do. The FBI, hell, the US government does not make deals with terrorists or psychotic killers. You couldn't have done anything else; you're too good an agent and too honest and honorable a man to have been able to live with yourself if you'd have done anything differently."

"Maybe," he hedged.

"There's no maybe about it," she shook her head and insisted in a frustrated tone. "What's more, I'm sure that you would still do the same thing now – even knowing the consequences."

"You can't be sure of that," he argued. "There's no way you could know that."

"Yes, I can," she argued. "I can be sure of that; I can know that because I know you. And because I do, I also know that _you're_ sure of it too. If you weren't, if you hadn't known that you were still capable and willing to follow the same rules that you've always followed, you wouldn't have come back to work – you'd have gone rogue." She was speaking softly but firmly and looked him straight in the eye, to show him how serious she was about what she was saying. "And we both know you're more than capable of going underground and hunting the bastard by yourself if that was what you really wanted to do."

"Perhaps," he shrugged, fiddling with his spoon and not looking at her. It was somewhat ironic but this turn of the conversation was making him even more uncomfortable than what came before. Hotch was a man that lived by a strict code he had created when he was still a boy; a code that had come into being as a way to ensure that he wouldn't turn into someone he didn't want to be. He'd followed that code religiously and grew up to catch the worst of criminals; acknowledging that maybe he was so good at catching them because without that code he could have very well become one of them was never easy. Hearing Emily casually mention that she knew all about that dark side of his personality that he tried very hard to forget even existed was more than a little awkward.

"No," she shook her head. "No more maybes, no more perhaps; there's no doubt about any of this. You did what you had to do because being who you are you couldn't have done anything else. And Foyet did what he did because he's a psychotic killer, killing people is what he does. You're an FBI agent and you catch killers, you don't make deals with them. And you making that deal wouldn't have changed anything anyway."

"How can you say that?" He asked incredulously. "If I'd taken the deal the people in that bus wouldn't have died," he said again and Emily had to suppress a heavy sigh. Now that she finally got him talking, he seemed to be stuck on how it was all his fault. "And Jack wouldn't be gone."

"That might be true," she conceded after a brief pause. "On the other hand, Foyet would still be a killer. And those people in the bus might not have died but what about the people he'd killed before? Don't they deserve some justice? Don't their families deserve to know who killed their loved ones?"

"But . . ." he began but she cut him off.

"No!" she held her hand up and leaned forward. "No more buts, no more maybes, no more 'if I'd have done this or done that'. What is that anyway? If you would've taken the deal, if you would have taken him down, if you'd have worn a red tie instead of a blue one, if I'd gone to Harvard instead of Yale, if my mom hadn't been an ambassador but a warmer mother, if I hadn't . . . had an abortion at fifteen," she shook her head when he looked up and opened his mouth. She didn't really want to talk about it right then; she'd only mentioned it to make a point. "What is the point of wondering any of that? What does it matter anyway? At the end of the day, none of those things happened. What happened happened and we can't change it; this is the reality we have and this is what we have to deal with. You won't get anywhere if you keep dwelling on what could have happened or what you could have done differently. Regrets aren't good for anything but making you feel sorry for yourself and that just means you're wasting time you could have used doing something productive."

"I'm not feeling sorry for myself," he protested, sounding irritated.

"No, you're just feeling guilty about the whole thing and keep thinking you're responsible for things over which you had no control," she told him. "You really need to stop doing that. Or do you want to end up like Gideon?"

"I'm not like Gideon," he denied firmly, shaking his head and frowning.

"No, usually you're not," she agreed. "Usually, you know how to separate yourself from the cases. You're relentless when we're on the trail of an unsub and you're compassionate and gentle when dealing with the victims. But when a case is done, you know you have to let it go. No matter how much you might feel for the victims, usually, you know that what happened to them was _not_ your fault. And, usually, you're a great boss. I mean, you can be dictatorial, a drill sergeant and something of a bully," she told him with a smile and he couldn't help but roll his eyes despite the seriousness of the conversation.

"But you care for your team and you always have our backs. We know that. And while you have no problem in dressing us down if you think we crossed the line," she said, thinking of the times he'd told her exactly what he thought back when she'd first joined the team and of how, according to Morgan, he'd put Jordan in her place during her first case with the team. "You also have no problems with giving praise when it's needed or being comforting when that's needed. You're a tough boss but you're also a fair and loyal one. You're not the type to snap at anyone because of an honest mistake."

"I am going to apologize to Garcia," Hotch said, knowing that the last observation was a direct result of the way he'd spoken to the technical analyst in their last case.

"And that's my point," she told him. "Two months ago, you wouldn't have had to apologize because you wouldn't have snapped at her. You once told me that this was the job and that you had to be sure I could be objective. I don't think I really understood what you meant then but I do now . . . You've lost your objectivity, Hotch. You've let it get personal."

"I let it . . ." he was so outraged by the accusation he couldn't finish the sentence. "You were thinking of bringing a victim home with you," he finally said, shaking his head. "I was ambushed in my own apartment, stabbed nine times and then dropped off at the hospital like yesterday's garbage. And the bastard wasn't happy leaving it at that; he had to make it so that I had no choice but to send my son away. I didn't make it personal – it _is_ personal! It's as personal as it can get!!"

"Yes it is and yet," she said as calm as he was upset because one of them had to keep it together, "you still have to find a way to find your objectivity again, to let all this guilt go because that is the only way you're going to beat this, the only way you're going to get your son back. You know that, Hotch. You can't afford to lose it now because that won't help anybody – not the team, not yourself, it definitely won't help you get back your son. The only one that will win in that scenario would be Foyet. And you're not going to let him win, are you?"

"It's not a matter of letting him win or not, Emily," just as suddenly as the irritation had shown up, it went away. He was just so tired of it all. "And it's not a matter of simply choosing to be objective or to let go of the guilt – it's not as easy as that."

"Of course it's not easy," she agreed. "I'd be more worried if you thought it was easy; it's probably one of the hardest things you'll ever do – but you still have to do it. And you know you have to do it. You have to do it because it's the only way we'll catch Foyet and the only way you'll get your son back. And you have to do it because if you don't, sooner or later, you'll end up having to walk away from it all just to keep your sanity intact. You are _not_ Gideon," she told him as she leaned forward, looked him in the eye and squeezed his hand. "So, stop acting like him and start acting like Hotch. You need to be Hotch again; we need you to be Hotch again. It's the only way we'll be able to get through this."

"I . . . I don't know if I can be him again," he admitted, looking down at the table and avoiding her eyes. "At least, not in the same way."

"Of course you can," she argued. "I know you can. Yes, the attack will change some things but deep down, where it counts, you're still Hotch. And you have to remember," she added when he didn't look convinced. "You're not alone. I know your son is gone and so is Hailey . . ."

"Hailey's been gone a long time," he corrected her. "I don't miss her all that much anymore."

"Okay," she nodded, not sure what else to say. She didn't think it would be quite appropriate for her to smile and say that was a good thing. "Well, we're here – I'm here. For whatever you need; we're here to help you, you just have to let us."

"I know that. I mean, I came over last night, didn't I?" he smiled at her; it was a small smile but it was there nonetheless.

"Yes, you did," she answered and smiled back. "And that's great. But you and I both know that you coming over and you talking about it this morning – it won't solve everything. This isn't the kind of thing you can just get over overnight. It's a process and I just don't want you to shut us, shut me out again. I won't nag you; I won't keep after you but you have to talk about it when you need to."

"I know," he agreed. "And I will; I promise," he said even though she hadn't quite asked for a promise.

"Good," she nodded and sat back. She picked up her coffee cup and took a sip as she watched him over the rim. When she put it back down, she took a deep breath and spoke. "I also I think that," she paused for a moment, wondering if it was a good idea to continue.

"You also think that?" he asked and she decided that she might as well go ahead.

"I think you should move out of your apartment," she finally said. "I don't understand why you went back there in the first place."

"I went back because it's my home," he told her, frowning in confusion. "Where else would I have gone?"

"Anywhere else would have been better," she answered. "And that's not your home. It's the place you sleep and keep your things and where you go when you're not in the office but it's not your home. I've been there, Hotch; the furniture's still the same that came with the place. Outside the case files and some books, you haven't added anything to make it your own; you haven't even tried to put your stamp on it at all. It is not your home."

"It's where I live," he argued. "And moving would mean . . . that I'm letting the bastard win," he admitted.

"No, it wouldn't," she disagreed. "If it _were_ your home, if you had any good memories in the place or any emotional investment in it then it would be letting him win. But you don't and you're just staying there out of sheer stubbornness and misplaced pride, which is dumb. You're fighting a battle that you can't win – or can't lose, depending on your point of view so why fight it? You're just wasting a lot of energy that you should be channeling elsewhere."

"I don't really feel like dealing with all the hassle that comes with moving right now, Emily," he sighed, leaned and rubbed his hands over his face.

"I know," she said softly, gazing at him tenderly. "I know you don't. But Rossi has a big house, maybe you could temporarily move in with him."

"Heck no," he started shaking his head before she finished speaking. "I've camped with Dave before and I'd rather move into a hotel than repeat the experience. And I really don't want to move into a hotel."

"I'm sure Morgan has an extra property that . . ." but he was shaking his head again. She hadn't really thought he'd go for that or he'd gone to them the night before. "Or you can stay here, in the guest room like you did last night."

"I wouldn't want to impose," he demurred, though if he was going to stay over at anyone's, he'd wanted it to be Emily's.

"You wouldn't be imposing," she told him. "You know me well enough to know that I wouldn't be offering if I didn't mean it. I'm not that polite," she added with a smirk.

"No, I guess you aren't," he gave a small laugh. "At least not with me."

"Nope," she shook her head. "Now, finish your coffee and we'll go by your place to pick up your things."

"Now?" he asked, surprised though maybe he shouldn't be. Emily was not one to put things off.

"Sure," she shrugged and drank the last of her coffee. "Why wait? And afterwards we can stop by the grocery store. We should probably pick up some groceries 'cause we kinda ate all the food in house for breakfast."

"I don't want to put you out," he began but she shook her head and stood up, picking up her coffee cup and the dishes.

"You're not putting me out," she told him. "I was going to have to buy groceries this weekend anyway. I haven't been to a grocery store in weeks. Now, why don't you make yourself useful?" she asked as she walked into the kitchen. "And bring in the rest of the dishes?"

His eyes widened briefly at the teasing, commanding tone in her voice before he shook his head, grinned and followed her into the kitchen.

Hours later, they'd finished lunch and were sitting in the living room, watching TV. Well, Emily was watching TV; Hotch was reading one of the many books they had brought over with his stuff earlier that morning. Though they hadn't really discussed it out loud, they ended up packing up more than 2/3 of his wardrobe and most of his books and DVDs.

They hadn't needed to talk about it because both had felt Hotch get tenser and tenser the closer they got to his apartment. And Hotch had realized that Emily was right; there was nothing keeping him in that apartment but his own pride and that wasn't enough to keep torturing himself. So, neither one had stopped the other as they kept packing more and more of his clothes until only a few of his suits, which he never really used, were left in his closet. And when he moved to the dresser to pack his underwear and t-shirts, she'd gone to the living room saying that she was going to pack his books and few movies because he needed something besides case files to read and watch since all work and no play made Aaron a very dull boy. He'd rolled his eyes and grinned at the dig even as he realized that she was getting bolder and bolder with the jokes the more time they spent together. Idly, he wondered how the new dynamic in their relationship would translate into the field when they went back to work. But then he decided not to worry about it; they had always been professionals and he knew when it came down to it, they would continue to be professionals.

It took them almost two and a half hours and when they were done the apartment looked almost the same. They packed almost all of his personal belongings and it made no difference to how the apartment looked which only went to prove Emily's remark about how he hadn't done anything to make the place his own.

They went to the grocery store afterwards, where they stocked up on all their favorite foods. It turned out that they were both more than passable cooks but neither one bothered to cook on a regular basis because cooking for one was never fun. But since they would be living together for the foreseeable future, they decided they would take turns cooking and a competition of sorts was already in the making. Emily had taken first turn and had made lunch while he'd unpacked.

When she walked into the guest room to tell him lunch was ready and had seen the closet full of his suits, Jack's picture on the nightstand next to his meds and the case for the glasses he only wore at night and the toiletries he hadn't taken to the bathroom yet on top of the dresser, she was filled with an incredible warmth. It might not be her room but it was still a room in her home and to see it so full of his things felt incredibly right. It was funny but while he hadn't made his apartment his own in all the months he'd lived there, he'd made that guest room his in less than an hour.

The afternoon had been fun and lighthearted because every time he seemed to slide back into brooding, Emily would bring him back up. She'd kept up a steady string of conversation during lunch, told him he was doing the cleaning up afterwards since she'd cooked and had sent him to his room for a book when he'd tried to sit down with a case file in front of the TV because, she'd told him, he needed to relax and have fun and he was not going to work that weekend. He'd rolled his eyes and grumbled about bossy women but he had gone to his room and gotten a book he'd been meaning to read for months.

"Good book?" she asked him as she finally settled on an old Cary Grant movie that would begin a few minutes later.

"Yes," he nodded. "I bought it when it first came out but with one thing after another I haven't been able to read it."

"I know how that can go," she agreed as she snuggled into the couch. "That's why I make it a point to read on the plane when we're on our way back."

"Yes, I've noticed that," he told her. Truth be told, there was very little about her he hadn't noticed.

"This is one of my all time favorite movies," she said when the movie started as she pulled the afghan from the back of the couch and onto her legs. He grinned at her and turned his attention back to the book. He was glad that he'd perfected the art of concentrating on one thing despite whatever disruptions might be around him because he did not want to have to go to his room to read. Actually, the whole team had perfected that art. Sometimes, it was the only way of getting anything done.

Ninety minutes later, Emily turned off the TV and leaned back with a sigh. "No matter how many times I have watched that movie, I never get tired of it. They just don't make them like that anymore." She turned to smile at him when she noticed that he was no longer reading his book but hadn't paid any attention to the movie either. "Hey, what's wrong?"

"Nothing," he answered.

"Aaron," she said patiently and waited until he turned to look at her. "What's wrong?" she repeated and the look in her eyes let him know she wouldn't stop asking until she got a satisfactory answer.

"I . . ." he took a deep breath and let his head fall onto the back of the couch. "Next week is Jack's fourth birthday," he finally told her in a hushed voice as he kept his gaze fixed on the ceiling.

"I'm sorry," she said, also in a whisper because the sudden somber atmosphere called for hushed voices. "It must be hard knowing you won't be able to be with him that day."

"Yeah," he nodded and sighed. He leaned forward to throw the book on the coffee table before he leaned his elbows on his knees and let his head drop onto his hands. "It'll be the first year I won't see him on his birthday. I guess I've been lucky so far, with the job we have, to have been able to see him on his birthday every year. I barely made it last year but I made it. This year . . . I don't even know where he'll be."

"I bet you had a whole day planned – of what you would do with him," she said softly.

"Yes," he smiled slightly. "I did; I was supposed to have him for the whole weekend, so I actually had activities planned for both days."

"Why don't you tell me what you planned?" she suggested as she brought her legs up and wrapped her arms around them. "Maybe I can give you some suggestions to make it an even better weekend and you can do it all with him when he comes back – because he will come back, Hotch," she added when he looked as if he would protest. "You have to believe it, Hotch. We will catch Foyet and you will get your son back."

"Yeah," he sighed but didn't sound as if he really believed it. She frowned for a moment before she sighed herself. He looked so sad all of a sudden that she just wanted to reach out and hug him. Her hand actually started forward to brush back some curls that had fallen over his forehead but she forced herself to bring it back. Despite the amount of time spent together and the increased closeness in their relationship, that kind of touching was too intimate and a barrier they hadn't breached yet. She had no problem reaching forward and squeezing his hand but running her fingers through his hair or reaching forward and just hugging him was not something she felt comfortable enough initiating – at least not yet.

"You _will_ get your son back, Hotch," she repeated; maybe if she repeated it enough he would actually start believing it. "Now, tell me what you had planned," she ordered and he grinned at how bossy she could be when she forgot he was the actual boss.

They spent the next half hour planning what would be the perfect weekend for a four year old – some of the plans were too far-fetched to ever come to be but most of them were doable and Hotch made a mental note to make sure she'd spend at least part of the weekend with him and his son.

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They were on their way back from Rossi's hometown a few days later when Hotch looked up from the case file he was studying and looked over at Rossi, who looked lost in thought as he studied the judge's locket. A short observation was enough to make the older profiler open up about his past – at least, the little bit that involved Emma. Before long, the tone of the conversation changed and Hotch felt a lecture coming.

"Dave, he's threatening my family," Hotch protested.

"And we'll get Foyet, Aaron," Rossi said firmly; it was a promise.

"Then what's your point?" Hotch asked and Rossi leaned forward and waited a beat before speaking.

"You have a family," Rossi reminded him. "When all this is over, what are you going to do to make sure you're not a lonely guy wondering why you let the purest thing in your life get away?" Rossi asked and Hotch could hear the echo of Rossi's loneliness in the other man's voice.

Though he tried his best not to look away from Rossi's eyes, Hotch found his eyes drawn to where Emily was sitting as if by magnet.

"I will never let my son get away," Hotch said in lieu of an answer. "I'll fight to my dying breath to make sure he's always a part of my life."

"I'm glad to hear that," Rossi nodded.

"But Hailey," Hotch added and shook his head. "She's the mother of my child and we spent twenty years together and I'll always love her for that but she doesn't really have a place in my life as anything but Jack's mother – not anymore." He paused for a moment and then added something he'd recently accepted was true but had never said out loud. "And not for a long time, either."

"I know that," Rossi agreed. "I've known that a while. I wasn't talking about Hailey."

"Then . . .?" Hotch asked, making sure his eyes didn't betray him again by shifting over to Emily.

"Come on, Aaron," Rossi chided him. "I _am_ a profiler, you know? And modesty aside, I'm a damn good one. You think I haven't noticed the looks – that we all haven't noticed them? Or that she was the one that left an active investigation to go look for you?"

"They had a lot of information to go through," Hotch defended and Rossi noticed he didn't even tried to act as if he didn't know just who Rossi was talking about. "They needed another pair of eyes." Rossi just looked at him, without saying anything. He didn't need to say that that was a pretty flimsy excuse, because as soon as she left, they had been one pair of eyes down and when she'd stayed behind, it had been only Reid and the doctor that had found what they needed.

"She was the first one to get to the hospital," Rossi said instead. "And the last to leave," he added when Hotch opened his mouth to argue that she had been the first one at the hospital because she had been the one that Garcia told where he was. "She was the last to leave every night and she was the one that took you home when you were discharged and took you to all your follow up appointments and drove you to work and back home your first time back and . . ."

"That's all stuff you do for colleagues," Hotch argued, interrupting Rossi's long litany. "Any of you guys would have done the same."

"Sure," Rossi shrugged. "But the point is: _we_ didn't, _she_ did. What's more, you didn't really complain. And for someone as anal about control, that's very telling."

"I'm not . . ." Hotch started to protest that he wasn't anal about control but the look Rossi threw him convinced him to not finish the thought. He did have a thing about control, after all.

"And I don't know what went on between you two this past weekend," Rossi continued. "But it's obvious that something did. I haven't seen you so . . . at ease and centered in a long time. I know this thing with Foyet threw you off your game but I haven't seen you truly at peace with yourself since I came back to the BAU. I can see you're still worrying, still obsessing but it's better – a lot better," he added after he searched Hotch's eyes for a couple of beats. "I'm glad – for whatever happened, I'm glad."

"Nothing inappropriate happened," Hotch couldn't help but protest.

"I never said it did," Rossi told him even as he raised his eyebrows. "Frankly, I don't really need to know what happened . . . as long as I know something did happen." He paused for a moment to decide if he wanted to say what he had in mind and then decided he might as well. "Aaron, you had to have known that after what happened in Kentucky, we were all worried. I mean, you snapped at Garcia and the local LEO's, you entered a hostage situation without a vest, a gun or backup – you broke a number of protocols when you're usually one of the most protocol conscious agents I know, how could we not have been worried?"

"You never said anything," Hotch pointed out, frowning.

"Of course not," Rossi shrugged. "You had to know we trusted you and we had to know we could trust you. It was your first case back; you being a little off your game was to be expected and I had to trust that you would find your balance soon and would reach out for help if you needed it. I'm happy to see you did."

"We just . . . talked," Hotch finally confided, purposefully keeping it vague because even though Rossi was one of his closest friends and Hotch trusted him implicitly the details of what happened between him and Emily were private and to be kept between him and Emily. "I found I . . . needed to talk and she'd offered so we talked. She didn't say anything I didn't already know but I guess it was just good to hear it again." He paused for a moment and shifted his eyes to look at Emily again. "And you're right; I do feel more centered, more at ease with myself than I've felt in a while. Who would have guessed talking would actually help?" he asked with a self-deprecating smirk. Rossi chuckled and shook his head.

"I'm just glad it did," he commented.

"Yeah, it did." Hotch nodded. "Though you were also right when you said I'm still worried and obsessed about finding Foyet. I don't think that'll change until the s.o.b. is caught and dead and I can hug Jack again."

"Understandable," Rossi said. He noticed but didn't comment on the 'caught and dead' remark. Rossi completely agreed with the sentiment; after what that bastard had done to Hotch, there wasn't anyone on the team that wouldn't breathe a sigh of relief at his death. He shifted in his seat and waited a few moments before he lifted his eyebrows and went back to his original topic. "So?" He asked Hotch.

"So?" Hotch repeated but Rossi continued to stare at him with knowing eyes. Hotch, being a profiler himself and knowing Rossi quite well, knew exactly what the question referred to and after a few moments of a staring contest, he sighed and gave in. "What am I going to do when this is all over to make sure I don't end up a lonely guy wondering how I let the best thing in my life slip away?" he paraphrased and Rossi nodded. "Well," Hotch said thoughtfully as he looked at Emily once more before he turned to look at Rossi in the eye. "I'm going to do whatever I have to do to make sure that doesn't happen."

"Good," Rossi nodded and leaned back on his chair. "That's what I wanted to hear."

"I'm glad I could oblige," Hotch said with an amused smirk.

"Now I can tell the others we don't have to worry about you anymore," Rossi informed a few moments later.

"Dave," Hotch groaned.

"What?" Rossi shrugged. "We're family and we look after our own. It's our right to worry about each other," he paused and then added with a smirk, "and to talk about each other." Hotch just looked at him for a moment before sighing again.

"Fine," he said grudgingly. "Just make sure that whatever talk there is stays in the team. The last thing we need is for talk to start in the Bureau." That was admitting more than he would have under normal circumstances but more than his comfort or even just his job was at stake – Emily's reputation and her job would bear the brunt of it if there was talk about them back in the office.

"Of course," Rossi agreed. "We would never do anything that would hurt you guys."

"I know," Hotch nodded. The two men then held each other's eyes for a few moments before silently deciding that the conversation was over. Rossi went back to his memories of the past and thoughts of a future that wasn't and Hotch went back to his case file. Before he lost himself in it, however, he shifted his gaze and looked at Emily one last time. This time, Emily looked up at the same time and they gazed at each other for a moment before they smiled softly and turned back to what they'd been doing.

As he settled back on his seat with the case file, Hotch thought back to what Dave had said and to the weekend he'd spent with Emily and for the first time in years, Aaron Hotchner found that he wasn't apprehensive about the future. He'd gone to Emily's because he felt he was spiraling down into a dark abyss and needed someone to help him break free. She'd done that and so much more and he knew she would always be there to help him get through the dark times and find his way to the other side – and he would do the same for her.


End file.
